


Through His Eyes IV

by Evaldrynn



Series: Fǫruneyti [5]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Chapter 39 of Fǫruneyti from Loki's point of view, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-02
Updated: 2018-09-02
Packaged: 2019-07-05 13:38:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15864702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evaldrynn/pseuds/Evaldrynn
Summary: Chapter 39 of Fǫruneyti from Loki's point of view.This is canon in the story!





	Through His Eyes IV

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Birdgirl90](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Birdgirl90/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Fǫruneyti](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10937811) by [Evaldrynn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evaldrynn/pseuds/Evaldrynn). 



> Thank you so much for commissioning me! :D

You were in love with him. He couldn't possibly think it true, the disbelief in his eyes staying put while an incredulous smile appeared and left again, and his feet began to move as if on instinct. Closer, he needed to be closer. To touch you to hold you to _kiss_ you-

“S-stop.”

And he did.

“Please don't come closer.” 

It was a plea – for mercy, almost – spoken with such a fragile voice it seemed to shatter beneath the weight of the words. It hurt yet he smiled anyway; mostly out of confusion. 

“Why not?” 

“If Ylva comes in-” Tears began to glisten in your waterline again and his heart stung at the sight of you so distressed. You continued with an apology; “I'm sorry, I- please, just go.”

But how could he? How could he leave you in this state, knowing he was the cause of it? How could he leave you here, after your words had set his heart and soul ablaze in the most impossible, wonderful, inconceivably mind-shattering way? He yearned to have you in his arms and so he set a step forward, ignoring your pleading, and even though you backed away from him he did not let it stop him. He hated how you tried to keep your distance and part of him was hesitant – clearly you did not want him closer, so why torment you any further? - but the determination in the core of his being triumphed over all else. You were in love with him. He was in love with you, and you were in love with _him_. 

Your last warning was a soft whisper of his name, weak, yet he had caught your gaze and he was not going to let it go. He was not going to let you look away and escape. 

“I don't care about Ylva.” 

It was the truth, though you seemed not to know it; eyes widening in surprise, confusion, perhaps a bit of doubt – but he set another step, and another. Only two steps left, then one, until finally you were so close he could feel your warmth fill the air between your bodies . 

You managed to avert your eyes, arms trembling from the force with which you held onto the tabletop – or perhaps it was stress that shook you so; but still the idea wasn't enough to stop him.  
One hand gently found the side of your face and made you look back up at him, the other hand cupping your other cheek, and his heart was beating so fast it would barely surprise him if it collapsed in on itself or exploded out of his ribcage. But it held, stayed in one piece, and he leaned in closer.  
Closer.  
His lips brushed over yours and the butterflies inside his stomach turned into feral beasts trying to claw their way out, his half-lidded gaze meeting yours and your breaths shared while for a moment time seemed to stand still. 

“Loki-” 

And he kissed you. 

Your hands found his chest but you didn't push him away, fingers sliding up to his shoulders and holding onto him as if reality would crumble beneath your feet instead. Oh how he loved your touch; how he craved more of it, of your skin on his. He needed you closer still. His fingers moved down your neck, your arms, to sneak around your back and pull you against him, his mouth moving on yours with increasing hunger as he was starving for the taste of you; and when one of your hands slid up the back of his neck and into his hair he couldn't stop himself from growling deeply. He claimed your mouth deeper, harder, blood rushing down to his loins and if he had had one less ounce of self-control he would have let himself go -  
yet the need to breathe interrupted the rise of urges within him.

Your eyes met again as your chests heaved against each other in laboured breathing, heartbeats like thunder, and he simply couldn't resist kissing you again. A kiss on your lips, on the corner of your lips, your jaw, below your ear.

“You have no idea how I have longed for you.” 

It was but a whisper, breathed down the column of your neck. He kissed there, too; grazed his teeth over your skin, and when he heard that tiny moan slip from your lungs he grinded himself against you in the hopes of hearing more like it. The friction made his mind haze over. He wanted you, wanted you more than he had ever wanted anyone or anything else in this realm or any other. 

“I have been craving your touch for so long-” He softly bit down on the tender spot where your neck and shoulder met, and the gasp you gave in response almost made him groan in arousal. “Every moment in your presence was like sweet torture. Yet I never thought-” 

And then, so sudden it caught him off-guard, the negativity returned. His lips fell still against your shoulder as he left the sentence unfinished. Memories of hating himself, doubting himself; memories of wondering if anyone truly cared about him at all.

The way your mouth ghosted over his neck almost sent goosebumps down his flesh, yet his mood had changed drastically. 

“You never thought...?” 

Should he say it out loud? He felt pathetic for merely thinking it, for remembering the loneliness and the pain and the misery he had never wanted to acknowledge. His hands on your hips tightened their grip for only a second. 

“I never thought someone could fall for me.” 

Him, and all the horrible things he was. He had tried to convince himself that he was fine on his own, that the hadn't needed friends or love in the past and that he wouldn't need it in the future. He had forced himself to accept it wasn't for him - because to long for it and know it would never come was a far worse way to live.  
You gently pushed him back a little and tried to meet his gaze but he couldn't, couldn't look into your eyes. His shoulders had fallen and his jaw was clenched shut to keep himself from saying anything more. Perhaps he had said to much already. Would you think him pathetic? Weak? Cowardly?

“Why in the world would that thought even cross your mind?”

There was no judgment in your voice, just disbelief, and it made him look back at you at last. His heart clenched and it felt like he was opening up a wound that hadn't even fully closed yet. Fresh blood was spilling out, renewed pain shooting through his being, old insults welling up from where he had tried to keep them caged and out of his way. 

“Am I not the trickster? The deranged prince? Cold, secluded, corrupt? Not to mention that I turn onto a blue-skinned, red-eyed monster-”

“Loki.” Your voice was stern, causing him to shut up immediately. “You are _not_ a monster. I have told you before that neither of your forms bother me – though, now I think about it, I'd rather you don't turn into Brant again.” 

He couldn't help but chuckle quietly at that, however short, and the distraction of your smile was soothing, healing, even if just a bit. Though he doubted the truthfulness of your words he still desperately wanted to believe them.

“If only you could see yourself as I see you. You know now that I... well, that I have,” you cleared your throat, “-feelings for you.” 

His heart started to swell and glow again at hearing those words from your lips once more, and he wanted to kiss you over and over – but you continued. 

“Not to mention that princess Ylva seemed to like you a lot as well-” 

This made him frown. Did you truly think that wench held any sort of affection towards him? 

“Ylva doesn't like me, she likes the power our marriage would grant her.” 

“But I thought you and Ylva...” But you quickly closed your mouth and looked away, a light blush beginning to grow on your cheeks. 

It only made his frown deepen. “That Ylva and I what?” 

It puzzled him to no end how you avoided looking at him, how your hands fidgeted with the hem of your shirt, and his mind was racing to try and find whatever you may have been thinking to suddenly make you act so abashed. He didn't need to think for too long, however, as you gave the answer yourself. 

“You know...” A deep breath, as if you were gathering courage. “...shared a bed.” 

An array of mixed emotions washed over his face at the thought alone – shock one of the more prominent ones as well as sheer disgust – and he let it sound out into his voice as he blurted out a “Why would you think that?” Because there was nothing, as far as he knew, that could ever have hinted at such a thing. 

“She told me-” 

“She lied.” 

He had barely let you finish the sentence but who could blame him for the instant need to deny it? He couldn't have you believe that lie any longer than you already had.  
His shock and disgust were still too great to let his anger at Ylva grow, and the relieved sigh you gave, whispering “I'm glad” with such honesty, softened his heart so much everything else seemed to fade - or at least retreat to the background while his affection for you came rushing to the surface again. A fond smile tugged on the corners of his lips and he lifted a hand to brush a lock of hair behind your ear. 

“I do wonder, my lady, how long you have felt this way.” 

He only loved how your cheeks grew a few shades darker. 

“I... I don't know when it started, but... Do you remember the first fight we had?” 

“About that dragon of yours?” 

You nodded. “That morning I realised I found you – well... rather attractive. I still thought it was hunger that made my stomach twist back then, or fear, or any other excuse I could come up with. I might have started to fall for you since the berry fight, however.” 

His eyes widened. So soon? “That was only a day after we had met – you did not even know me back then. Two days later I nearly choked you to death!” 

Oh how he hated himself for doing that, how he hated himself for leaving bruises the shape of his fingers on your beautiful skin. He had harmed you. He could have killed you. And yet you had stayed kind to him while he had only deserved your hate.

“Yet the day after you took away my pain, you let me ride with you, you allowed me to sleep against you; I had seen through your act, I knew you were kind at heart.” 

He didn't know how to respond, and so he looked back at all the days you had spent together – but this time with the knowledge that you had been falling for him. The gentle warmth in your eyes had not merely been kindness, had not merely been friendship, and his own hateful feelings towards himself had blinded him too much to see it.  
Then he remembered the day in the library. How he had fooled you by letting you think he was asleep, simply so he could enjoy the feeling of your fingers combing through his hair for a little longer; and when you had retracted your hand he had taken hold of it and pressed it to his lips. It had been almost instinctive, an urge he hadn't been quick enough to intercept before he acted on it, yet he knew he would be able to play it off as teasing – until suddenly your tears had come, one by one and then many at once. 

He realised now that he had been the cause of them after all, despite your many claims saying otherwise, and he had been the reason for all the other sorrow he had seen in you as well. 

“The sadness I saw in your eyes, of which you said I was not the cause-” 

But you turned your face away. “It was not your fault – it was my own for developing feelings for you. I didn't blame you. We can't help the situations in which we are born; you being a prince, of royal blood, and me being a herbalist, a commoner – and when I heard you are to marry a princess...” A tear slid down your cheek and you touched it almost absently, as if it had caught you by surprise. 

It certainly caught him by surprise. Panic rushed up inside of him and he didn't know what to do, didn't know why you were still hurt. He hesitantly lifted his hands and took gentle hold of your shoulders. “Why are you crying?” 

“It hurts even more now that I know you are not in love with her. I-” Your voice thickened with tears. “Please don't hate me for not coming to your wedding, I just can't-” A sob interrupted you and your attempts to wipe the water away and stop yourself from crying seemed futile. 

It stung him deep to see you cry again but he was so baffled by your words that he pulled you into his arms and laughed in soft incredulity. “Hey, _hey_ , I will not marry Ylva!” He laughed quietly again, a hand soothingly rubbing up and down your arm as he held you. “Why in the nine realms would you think that?” 

“Are you not obligated to bind yourself to her? To rule Yllgard with her as your queen?” 

He managed to keep himself from scoffing or laughing louder and instead held you for a moment longer, before gently hooking his finger under your chin and lifting it so he could kiss you again. He rested his forehead against yours and looked into your eyes while his heart overflowed with adoration. 

“How could I, when the woman I am in love with is already at my side?” 

Your eyes grew wide as you stared up at him, lips slightly parted, and all he knew in that moment was that he wanted to be able to kiss you over and over again – yet the doubt inside of him still made him fear your answer to the question he was about to ask. He cleared his throat and forced himself to find enough courage to speak it. 

“Will you accept my affections?” 

More tears came and for a fraction of a second fear surged within him and told him that this was it, this was the moment you were going to tell him it might be best for you to remain friends – until he saw your smile and heard you say the words he craved. 

“Yes, Gods, _yes_ -” 

He didn't even let you finish before his mouth was on yours. He pulled you flush against him, needing you closer again, needing your touch, needing you _everywhere-_

Two short taps against the door. 

“Are you there, miss?” 

The servant girl. 

You pushed him away, face red as you whispered a quick 'hide in the bathroom' and sped towards the door like a teenager caught making out with her lover. The whole thing made him smirk – not to mention he was still high on endorphins – and only when you sent him a pleading look did he do as you had told. He kept the door cracked open just a little.

“I'm glad you are all right, miss. Selby saw you running through the hallway like you had just escaped your execution and I wondered if someone had tried to kill you again. If I may speak my thoughts, miss, I was a bit afraid to find you lifeless in your chambers.” 

His heart stilled and he only barely listened to what was said afterwards, eyes wide and body frozen where he stood, and only when the sound of the door falling shut reached him did he manage to pull free from his thoughts and teleport into the room. Walking was not quick enough. 

“Again?” It wasn't truly a question, rather an accusation of sorts, but there was more pain than anger in his voice. 

You blinked. “What?” 

“The servant girl said she was afraid someone had tried to kill you, _again_. The word implies it has happened before.” He paused for a moment, but when you didn't speak the stinging in his heart grew stronger. “Why didn't you tell me? Did I not promise to protect you? Was it that man you saw in the city?” 

If you had died...  
No, he didn't allow himself to think of it. 

He waited for your answer but you averted your gaze and spoke softly, words that only hurt him deeper. “I couldn't tell you - It's – I couldn't.”

His eyebrows pinched together and his forehead creased ever so slightly as he couldn't keep the sorrow from his expression. The tone of his voice matched yours. “Why not?” 

“Because I didn't want you to know you were going to marry a murderer.” 

He fell silent - staring, unable to even form a single coherent sentence inside his mind. You quickly continued talking, an explanation for your choice it seemed, but part of his mind had already wandered off. 

“I thought you had no option but to marry her, and I didn't want to ruin your chances of a happy life by exposing her for what she was. If I told you, you wouldn't be able to love her any longer. I just wanted you to be happy.” 

He barely registered it. Rage was quickly starting to boil his blood and he clenched his hands into tight fists, eyes blazing with hatred as he realised what the princess had tried to do. 

“I am going to kill that vile woman.” 

And he meant it too. In that moment he wanted nothing more than to hear Ylva scream in pain as he snapped each and every bone in her fragile little body before tearing her limb for limb to make her pay for what she could have done to you, and he readied his magic to teleport him right to her - but you grabbed his sleeve and called out with a slight desperation that managed to catch his attention. 

“Wait!” 

And so he did, a bit of the tension seeping from his muscles, and you continued. 

“Please don't kill her. I don't want her blood on your hands, and I would feel just as guilty. I don't want to murder anyone, Loki, not even indirectly. And besides, you and her – and your parents...” Your voice trailed off and left your sentence unfinished. 

There were still so many misunderstandings inside your head when it came to him and Ylva and this whole arrangement, weren't there? Perhaps it was best if he cleared it all up right here and now, so that none of it could hurt you any longer. He nodded, more to himself than to you, then moved to the bed, sat down on its edge, and patted the spot beside him. You obeyed without a word.  
He wasn't sure where to begin, or what exactly to tell, and for some reason the subject weighed heavy on him; but he found the words nonetheless.

“Odin wanted me to marry the princess of Yllgard so as to prevent any future wars between the kingdoms, and to expand the influence of his, and, in a few years, Thor's ruling – not to mention that he would be thrilled to have me out of his sight. I thought it would be for the best as well. The further away from the Allfather, the better; not to mention that it was a strategic move that would benefit both parties.” 

He kept his tone neutral to try and keep himself distanced from the topic and to talk about it in facts only, without his own feelings thrown into the mix – yet he couldn't help but feel sour dislike bordering on resentment stir inside his stomach. He didn't want to think about Odin or all the things he loathed about his adoptive father, or about how the tyrant's plans on using him for anything beneficial had made him feel disposable and unloved.  
So he turned his thoughts to the only person who had truly cared for him throughout his youth and still did so even now: Frigga. A tiny, fond smile pulled at the corners of his lips, the image of her as clear as day inside his mind. 

“But my mother never truly agreed. Before we left she told me that, if I should change my mind, I could always come back home.” His smile widened ever so slightly before his voice fell into a tone that was matter-of-fact once more - yet lighter of heart this time. “The royal family of Yllgard would not be able to revolt if I did indeed decide to cancel the wedding - their army is simply too small to even stand a chance against ours – and so I was never truly bound to princess Ylva.” He turned to meet your gaze now, and continued. “Of course the Allfather would never allow me to come back without a good reason, even though mother would welcome me with open arms, and I suppose murdering Ylva wouldn't be appreciated either.” 

He hesitated for a moment - until he remembered the words you had spoken to him a long time ago, at night when the two of you had sat on the rooftop of the inn, and a playful glimmer entered his eyes as his smile stretched into a grin. “I'm trying to find the right words to say: 'thank you for nearly dying', but it is harder than you might expect.” 

You recognised your own words and laughed, and the fondness he felt for you seemed to swell again; hope and excitement sped up his heart a little as an idea struck his mind. 

“I can present this evidence and declare Ylva unsuitable to be my wife, meaning we will no longer have to stay here. You can come to Asgard – with me.” 

He scanned your gaze, his eyes switching between yours as he searched for the same excitement he felt, and though you did smile wider and opened your mouth to speak no words came out. He doubted then that it was what you wanted, and that he had pushed you into a corner with no way out but to agree with him. His hope fell a little. 

“Unless, of course, that is not what you want-” 

“No! No- I mean yes! Or... no?” You shook your head to get rid of the confusion. “What I mean is, I'd love to come with you. I'm... I can't tell you how happy that would make me, because no words are great enough, my prince.” 

And it felt like his heart burst open, his affection and adoration pouring out into every fibre of his being, his smile growing so wide it hurt - 

and you kissed him.


End file.
